


Slow Down

by spun809



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Suicide, Unhappy Ending, short but depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spun809/pseuds/spun809
Summary: Dean lost you and couldn't cope anymore





	

As he stood over the mound of loose dirt, he broke. Laying a bunch of flowers down, he felt like he was choking. There wasn’t a headstone there yet, but he could picture it. All that would be left would be a polished piece of marble to explain everything that you had been, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Dean Winchester saw more death than the average person but even after all of that, this was beyond what he could bear. 

He had told himself that he would never go down the roads he did when Sam died. That he wouldn’t spread the messed up life that he had with his brother to anyone else. Standing at the crossroads though he knew that he couldn’t stop it. So he buried the box and waited. 

“She won’t be coming back to you Dean, when the King of Hell takes somebody personally, that’s the end. No reaper to bargain with this time.” And as the girl who’s body was no longer hers eyes flashed red she added, “besides Dean the whole point is that you suffer.” 

Only a few seconds passed before Dean stabbed his blade through her chest. It didn’t bring you back though. So instead he prayed. He begged Chuck even though he knew he was gone. Then it was Cas. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. He thought of trying a reaper, but he knew that none of them had the power to get you back. 

He needed a drink or ten. As he crunched through the gravel parking lot of the local roadhouse he was greeted with the sound of Creedence on the jukebox. 

_First thing I remember was asking papa, why,_

_For there were many things I didn’t know._

_And daddy always smiled and took me by the hand,_

_Saying, someday you’ll understand._

“Tequila and keep them coming,” Dean settled into the cracked bar stool and pounded the first shot the pretty blonde bartender put down. By the time the bartender cut him off he was so drunk he could barely walk back to his car. 

Thinking about you as if you were back; drinking beers with him in the backseat of baby. Imaging the way your y/h/c hair fell in your eyes as you got buzzed. As he climbed into the back seat he felt the familiar weight of your body on his chest. He cried until he passed out. 

It was Sammy’s ringtone that broke through the haze, Dean woke with a start and answered the best he could, “what’s going on Sammy?”

“Dean come back to the bunker, I know what your doing and you’ve got to stop,” Sam hesitated before adding, “she wouldn’t have wanted this.” 

Dean hung up. Sam didn’t know, he had lost Jessica before he had gotten back into hunting. This was like every piece of his life was shattering. That’s when it hit him. Sam was grown up, he was a man of letters. Their mom was back and things were finally going to be OK for him, he wouldn’t be alone. 

Opening the glove box he pulled out a bottle of painkillers they kept in case a hunt went south. He grabbed a beer out of the cooler, then handful after handful he swallowed them down. Gagging and gasping for air, he thought that at least he could find you this way. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have to deal with not having you in this life. He heard a little bit of music leak out of the roadhouse doors. 

_Think it was September, the year I went away,_

_For there were many things I didn’t know._

_And still I see him standing, tryin’ to be a man,_

_I said, someday you’ll understand._

Sam was sitting back at the bunker, he had tried calling Dean all night but he hadn’t answered. He ran his hands through his hair and thought about everything that had happened the last week. He and Dean had known you were depressed, had seen it in the way you struggled to get out of bed or eat a real meal. They had tried to get your help, even Dean had told you that therapy might help. You had refused. T

he sound of the tub running had caught their attention. “Maybe this is a good sign, she hasn’t been outside of her room in two days.” Dean’s eyes were pleading to Sam, begging for some type of agreement that you would be alright. 

“Sure, I bet it is,” but Sam had his doubts. The water kept running, the minutes ticked by and suddenly a look of horror crossed Dean’s face. He rushed to the door, it was locked, he pounded on the frame yelling your name and there was no response. Together they kicked it down, and all Sam could see when he found you is the way that his brother’s eyes looked empty like he had died right along next to you. 

“Finally, Dean where the hell are you?” Sam was pulled out of his thoughts with relief at Dean calling him back. 

“Are you Sam Winchester?” It wasn’t Dean’s voice, it sounded official. 

“Yes, do you know where my brother is?” 

“Son, I’ve got some bad news, probably should get down here.” 

Sam felt like he should have known this was coming, and in a way he did. This was one time when Dean wouldn’t be coming back. 

“Sure officer, where are you?” 

“Rouge River, Oregon. Just ask for Sheriff Weston at the main office.” 

Sam knew it would be a long drive, but the truth was he had some things to think about.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from the song Someday Never Comes by Creedence Clearwater Revival


End file.
